


Your Fate Collides

by jadepresley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blind Date, Brief References to Depression, Brief references to alcoholism, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Fate, I swear, It's just a whole lot of other stories too, M/M, Muggle AU, POV Multiple, brief references to suicide, despite those tags, it is a love story, this story is not super depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-23 14:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadepresley/pseuds/jadepresley
Summary: Teddy doesn't believe in fate, and he's not being dramatic or anything but the only destiny he believes in is that he's probably destined to die alone.





	Your Fate Collides

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Sing-Me-A-Rare Vol.2. My song inspiration was: Born to be Yours by Kygo & Imagine Dragons
> 
>  **THIS PIECE HAS BEEN INCLUDED IN THE COLLECTION FOR FUN AND IS NOT ELIGIBLE FOR VOTING AS I AM A JUDGE THIS ROUND**  
>  Be sure to check out the rest of the fics in this collection and show the authors the love and support they deserve! <3
> 
> All the love and thanks to Chibaken and QueenOfThyme for their phenomenal last minute Alpha/Beta skills (even if they get distracted while editing by doing dramatic smut readings over group video chats). I adore you both and would be a fool to ever post anything without you guys reading it first.
> 
> Also a huge thanks to the awesome ladies who put together this writing comp and put in so much work to make it all run smoothly. You guys do such an amazing job and I'm grateful you've given me a platform to write a fic about fate at a time when I desperately need to believe that things happen for a reason <3 xx
> 
> A quick FYI - In this AU Teddy **DOES NOT** know Harry Potter or any of his children in any way. 
> 
> Enjoy! xx

Teddy has been stood up.

Really, he shouldn’t be surprised - for a start, blind dates are never a good idea, plus Teddy knows from past experience that his insistence on meeting up for lunch rather than dinner is off-putting to a lot of guys - but he’d let himself get just a tiny bit excited about this one. His roommate had insisted this guy was different when she’d begged to be allowed to set it up - had been sure Teddy would like him despite the fact she had only known Teddy for a few months now.

“He’s been travelling the world with his brother for the past year, but he’s just come home and he’s looking for something serious,” she’d told him three days ago as she packed an overnight bag. She was staying with her new boyfriend most nights lately, and being so loved up had made her determined to find someone for Teddy. “He’s a sports journalist, so his schedule is really flexible. You wouldn’t have to deal with trying to fit into someone’s nine to five life.”

Teddy had been reluctant, but she’d worn him down over the next couple of days with promises of blue eyes and the kind of shaggy hair she knew Teddy adored. “And he thinks your name is adorable,” she said, as though that single fact determined everything.

“How do you know him again?” he’d asked her this morning over breakfast as she rushed around to get ready for work.

But either she hadn’t heard, or she’d ignored him, because she dashed out the door with nothing more than a quick “see you later!” over her shoulder.

And now he’s sat in the cafe she’d insisted on, surrounded by doilies and lace table cloths with a half drunk coffee on the table and an empty seat opposite him, and it’s forty eight minutes after this guy was supposed to be here. He’s fed up and he’s uncomfortable; he’d nearly slipped on the concrete when he dashed from the taxi to the cafe door an hour ago and banged his elbow on the door frame, and his shirt is still a little damp from the rain.

There’s no reason for him to keep sitting here feeling pathetic, so after sending his roommate a quick text he lets out a slightly exaggerated sigh he stands up and makes his way over to the counter to pay for his drink. The waitress on the till smiles kindly at him when she looks up.

“How was the coffee?” she asks.

“Yeah, it was good. Thank you very much,” Teddy replies as he hands over cash. Usually he’d make more of an effort to chat, but he feels inexplicably tired all of a sudden. The woman returns his change, nodding in thanks when he drops a few coins in the tip jar by the register.

Teddy has some time to kill now before he needs to be at work, so he thinks he might get a taxi to the bookstore he likes across town, or maybe he’ll walk through the park if the rain holds off and lament the fact that he’s apparently entirely undateable.

“It’ll be okay, you know,” the waitress says just as he turns to leave.

Teddy pauses, glancing back at her. “Sorry?”

She smiles again, eyes crinkling at the corners. She pushes her long dark plait back over her shoulder and props her elbows on the counter. “Whoever they are, they may not have shown up today, but I’ve learnt that fate has a funny way of making sure we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

Teddy doesn’t scoff, but internally he cringes. He doesn’t believe in fate, or destiny, or any other notion that implies everything happening in his life has some bigger purpose he can’t control.

“Right,” he says. “Well, thank you. And thank you for the coffee. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” she says. “And trust the universe - things will always work out the way they’re meant to.”

Teddy doesn’t want to be rude, so he gives her a weary smile before he heads outside. It must be nice to feel that kind of optimism, to believe things will just… work out.

He’s absolutely not in the mood for work today, but he could never call in sick and create more work for other people, or let his colleagues down. He buttons up his jacket and heads down the street. At least the rain has stopped.

* * *

Parvati watches the man with sad eyes leave her shop with hunched shoulders and feels a pang of sadness. Since she took over running things from Mrs Puddifoot a few years ago, she’s witnessed enough people leave through that door to know when she’s just witnessed somebody experience disappointment. No matter how many times she sees it, her heart still aches for each and every one of them.

She calls for her assistant to take over and slips out the back door into the alleyway behind the shop. She lights up a cigarette, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes. The alley is damp and smells of fresh rain mixed with garbage that was supposed to be picked up two weeks ago, and she wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t come out here often, but sometimes she’ll see such sadness on someone’s face - and it will affect her so profoundly - that she just needs one quick cigarette and a moment to settle her mind. 

Her quiet moment is broken, though, by the sound of her phone ringing in the pocket of her apron.

Her daughter’s distraught voice comes down the line when she answers. “Mum, she didn’t show up.”

Parvati exhales and closes her eyes again.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” she soothes, and she hates that this routine is so familiar. “I’m sure it was something important.”

“It’s always something important,” her daughter says, voice wavering. “It was my last game. I just wanted her to see me play once. _Once!_ She promised she’d show up and she wasn’t there! You run a whole shop and do palm readings from home but you still manage to show up almost every week, so why can’t she?!”

“Honey, her job-”

“I know her job is important! But just one time I want to feel like I’m important to her too! It’s not fair!”

The line disconnects and Parvati swallows the lump in her throat.

Her daughter is sixteen now, and Parvati is starting to get worried that once she’s old enough to go out on her own, neither she nor her wife will see much of her anymore.

She sends a text off to her daughter, promising they’ll all talk about it over dinner tonight, that they’ll find a way to fix things. She tries to call her wife but her phone is off, so she sends a text instead.

She thinks of missed birthdays and holidays, Christmases without her and dinners trying to explain to a child who didn’t understand the concept of needing extra money. She thinks of all the recent arguments, her insistence that money isn’t as tight anymore and that neither of them need to keep taking extra hours, her wife’s stubborn refusal to slow down, and Parvati’s not sure she can keep watching her daughter’s heart break like this anymore.

She stubs out her cigarette and tosses it into a garbage bin. Things need to change for the sake of their daughter. It's not that she doesn't believe the things she tells her customers, but Parvati needs her wife to show up tonight. She needs her to be home. If she isn’t, well. She’s not sure where that will leave them.

* * *

Teddy’s socks are a tiny bit damp from puddles that splash up as he walks through them, but he barely notices as he wanders down the busy street. His mind is a million miles away right now. He’s not being dramatic or anything, but he’s pretty sure the only thing fate has in store for him is to die alone. He can’t even get a stranger who doesn’t know him to show up, so what chance does he have of actually finding someone to love him?

It’s his own fault for getting hopeful. It’s just that he can’t even remember the last time he had a date that felt like it went well, and his last boyfriend was… Christ, when he was twenty, maybe? His job makes dating hard, and after trying to juggle both for a few years he’d just sort of… stopped trying. He loves his job, wouldn’t change it for anything, but he’s lonely. He’s lonely and he’s tired and he misses that feeling of having someone by his side, someone to share his life with, a partner. He’d just thought this might be his chance.

He shakes his head. So stupid of him.

The soft sound of a guitar drifts towards him when he rounds a corner, pulling him from his quickly spiraling thought process, and Teddy glances up to see a busker sitting outside an office building. Teddy loves music. He was obsessed with playing guitar himself until university got too chaotic and it became something he could only indulge in on occasion. He stops walking to listen. It’s not a song he’s ever heard before, but the sad thrum of the melody is achingly familiar. The busker is a man. He’s older than Teddy and his eyes are closed as he plays, too lost in the music to notice someone stood a few feet away watching him. Other people walk by, barely looking up as they pass, and Teddy wonders how they can walk by something so raw, so beautiful, and not pause to acknowledge it.

He’s completely mesmerised until a car honks and breaks his reverie. The busker doesn’t react at all, just continues strumming his sad song. His guitar case is open at his feet, so Teddy pulls out his wallet. It’s probably a little excessive, the number of bills he drops into the case, but he doesn’t want to disturb the man to tell him he loves the song, and anyone who can create something so beautiful should know that somebody else appreciates it. With a last glance, he commits the tune to memory and continues on his way.

* * *

Lavender is running so, so late for work. She’s dashing down the stairs of her apartment building, trying to avoid tripping and breaking her neck while simultaneously doing up the buttons of her blouse. She’d worked a double shift last night, not getting home until it was indecently late, and she’d passed out as soon as she got in, completely forgetting to set an alarm.

A cold wave of dread settles in her stomach when she thinks about what her boss might say when she gets there. He’s already pissed off at her because she hasn’t filled their evening performance spot yet - why he decided they  _need_ live music she's got no idea - and she’s seen him fire other staff for a lot less. She hates to make excuses but between taking on extra shifts to cover for the other staff who all seem to have fallen sick lately and helping her best friend out when she needs someone to drive her daughter around because her wife is always working, she just hasn’t had a chance to look into filling the position.

She can’t get fired, she can’t. She needs this job and if she loses it, she’s completely fucked. She’ll lose her flat and everything else. It had taken her months to get hired after she got out of hospital; people can claim they don’t discriminate all they want, but Lavender has learned first hand that most people make up their minds within seconds of seeing her. Scars scare people, make them uncomfortable. It had taken her such a long time to find her independence after her car accident, and she can feel it slipping away all because she forgot to set a fucking alarm and hasn’t had time to hire someone.

She bursts out onto the street, startling a couple strolling past and calling out a quick apology over her shoulder as she darts to the street to hail a taxi. Just as one pulls up to the curb, though, she realises she’s dropped her purse. She looks around frantically and spots it by the door of her building. It takes ten seconds, _ten bloody seconds_ , for her to dash back to grab it, but when she turns around again, a man is sliding into the car and closing the door.

The taxi pulls away, the man settling back into the seat as Lavender stares after it in disbelief. She doesn’t know if he saw her. She doesn’t care. She looks up and down the street, desperately searching for another taxi, and she’s so, so fucked. She won’t cry though, she won’t, but Christ, she wants to.

* * *

He’s only travelled about five blocks before Teddy asks the taxi driver to pull over and let him out. His stomach is growling loudly (a reminder that he hasn’t had lunch yet) (because he was stood up) (because he is inherently unlovable and destined to die alone). He considers briefly, as he steps back onto a crowded street, that he should get a cat or some other animal to keep him company, but he dismisses that idea almost as soon as it crosses his mind. His job wouldn’t give him the time to properly look after a pet, and it would be cruel to leave one alone so often, to make it feel the way he feels now.

Teddy heads to a little bakery he knows isn’t far away, a tiny shop a friend told him about a few months ago that sells sandwiches and salads as well as bread and cakes.

There’s a short line when he gets there, only five people, but Teddy checks his watch anyway. He’s still got some time before his shift starts, so he’s not too worried. Teddy hates being late. He always gives himself extra time, no matter where he’s going, to make sure he arrives exactly when he’s supposed to. He probably needs to loosen up a bit, but nothing good can come from being late in his line of work. People rely on him.

Teddy is lost in his thoughts again (maybe the guy _had_ shown up, took one look at him through the window, and bailed) so he doesn’t notice that the line has moved forward at first - not until the man now being served raises his voice loudly.

“What do you mean sold out?” he demands, voice bordering on hysterical.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the young guy at the register is saying. “They’re very popular, and we sell out most days before lunch.”

The customer is shaking his head. “You don’t understand,” he says, gripping the counter. “I need one. I can’t just… I can’t leave without one! You must have more!”

“No, sir, as I said, we’re sol-”

“Don’t say you’re sold out!” the customer yells, slamming his fist down. “Don’t tell me that!”

The other customers exchange wary glances. His shoulders are tense and he’s breathing rapidly. He’s upset, Teddy thinks, but it’s probably not about baked goods. Perhaps he’s just received bad news and needs comfort food. Perhaps it’s his anniversary and that particular menu item means something to him.

He see the moment the customer gives up - his shoulders slumping as he turns to leave the shop.

It’s not his wisest move, probably - for all he knows this man is wildly unstable - but Teddy halts him before he can leave by placing a hand on his elbow.

“There’s a place on Basil Street,” he says gently. “I just came from there. They sell a lot of the same things as here. Maybe they have what you need.”

The man looks like he wants to say something, but all he manages is a nod and a mumbled ‘thank you’ before he leaves.

Teddy watches him disappear onto the street, only pulled back to reality when his phone pings with a reply message from his roommate.

_I’m soooo sorry!!!! I have no idea why he didn’t show?? I’ve called him but no answer. I will DEF yell at him at my bday dinner tomorrow night!!! Plz forgive me!!! And don’t be mad but I forgot my house keys in my rush this morning and didn't pack clothes to stay at the bf's!!!!!!!! Any chance you can drop me yours before you go to work??? Otherwise I’m locked out til you finish at 4am!!! Xxxxx_

Teddy checks his watch again. He’s almost at the front of the line now. He’s got time still. He texts Victoire back and tells her he’ll be there soon.

* * *

Why was is it that when everything is going wrong, every song on the bloody radio suddenly becomes relevant to your exact situation?

Penelope sniffles, head bowed against the steering wheel as a man with a low, rumbling voice sings to her about the despairs and unfairness of love. It’s ridiculous; she’s heard the song a hundred times now - it’s blasted on every radio station constantly - but until this exact moment she’s always thought the lyrics were a little dramatic and entirely unromantic.

The singer, though, he really gets what she’s going through. He knows how this feels, and there’s a certain comfort in knowing she isn’t the only one feeling entirely lost right now.

She leans back in the driver’s seat, wiping her eyes and then her nose with a tissue as the song comes to an end. She needs to pull herself together so she can get out of her car and go inside, but then she thinks of her morning again and her bottom lip trembles as fresh tears spring to her eyes.

It had been such a stupid fight, is the thing. One of those ridiculous arguments that start as bickering over nothing but progresses into a screaming match about things completely unrelated to the initial issue. Neither one of them knew how they’d even gotten there, but by the time they realised they were being ridiculous too much had been said. Penelope had screamed that she was done and stormed out. He’d not said a word in reply and he hadn’t texted since. He never called - he hated talking on the phone - so she knew she wouldn’t hear his voice again today, but she’d thought he might send a text at least.

God, why had she said that? Why would she declare she was done and then run out? She doesn’t want to be done. She loves him more than anything and the idea of not being together hurts like a physical blow.

The problem they have is how horrible they both are at communicating. She’s sorry, but she’s also really mad at him, and she doesn’t know how to tell him that. He’s no better, holding things inside and letting them simmer until the two of them fight like today and things she didn’t know bothered him come spilling out. They’re kind of a mess, but they’re so stupidly in love, have been since high school, and she doesn't want to lose him. She sighs and looks down at her phone lying on the passenger side seat, willing it to ring, willing him to call just this once, but it stays silent. Five miles away, she knows his does the same.

* * *

Teddy doesn’t get the bus often, but just to add to his bad day, there are no taxis around when he needs one. The bus is packed and the only seat available is next to a gentleman in a shabby brown suit who taps one foot incessantly.

Teddy sits beside him for a full five minutes, trying to ignore the sound of his shoe against the floor, before he chances a glance over at him. He smells heavily of alcohol and cigarettes and his hands are clasped so tightly that his knuckles are white. His expression is pinched, and Teddy doesn’t mean to be nosy but he finds himself quietly asking, “Are you alright?” before he can stop himself.

The man startles, perhaps not having noticed anyone beside him, and his head whips around to look at Teddy with wide eyes.

“I - yes - no - fine, of course. Everything is fine,” he stutters, leaning himself closer to the window. Teddy doesn’t think he’s drunk, but he’s certainly been drinking recently.

“Are you sure?” Teddy presses gently. “You seem a little distressed.”

“No, no. Fine, m’boy. Everything’s fine. Saw... something. It was nothing. Didn’t mean to. No stress, nothing to worry about.”

Teddy frowns, concerned. “What did you see, Mr, er…”

“It’s Horace,” the man says, and that’s a good sign; if he’s willing to give his name he’s likely not committed some sort of crime. He’s smoothing his palms over his thighs, a nervous habit Teddy has seen in a lot of people he helps at work. “Just a small thing, it was nothing really. An accident, of sorts. Nothing to worry about.”

“An accident,” Teddy repeats. “Are you hurt? Have you seen a doctor?”

“M’fine, m’fine,” Horace mumbles. “Just an accident. Wasn't intentional. I don’t want to be involved. Don’t need the trouble, Police and whatnot, you know. No, no. I left.”

“Horace,” Teddy says slowly, “Was anyone else hurt? Did you see an accident and not report it?”

Horace is staring pointedly ahead, foot tapping much quicker now, face screwed up in distress. He looks rather like an animal trapped in a cage, cornered with nowhere to go.

“Everyone… They all seemed fine. I don’t know. They don’t need to know I was there. Don’t know why I can’t sit still. Must be going mad, honestly.” He laughs, high-pitched and nervous.

“Perhaps you’re feeling like this because you feel a little guilty,” Teddy suggests kindly. “I think you know the right thing to do would be to tell the police what you saw.”

“Can’t. They’ll ask what I was doing there… Will get in trouble. Can’t get into trouble again.”

“Isn’t it more important to make sure they have all the information?” Teddy pushes. “Especially if someone was hurt. Imagine if the wrong person was blamed. I’m not sure I’d want that on my conscience, would you?”

“Not that simple,” Horace says, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“I think it is though,” Teddy tells him. “Even if it’s hard, it doesn’t mean it can’t be simple. It either is the right thing to do, or it’s not. It’s about looking out for each other, you know?”

“Ridiculous,” Horace says. There’s no malice in it; he just sounds confused. “No. You’re wrong. You don’t know. Anyone else in my position would do what I’m doing.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Teddy says. “Maybe you’re right and somebody else would pretend they didn’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t come forward.” He gestures to the front of the bus. “You know, I’ve not seen a single person thank the driver on this trip so far, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to when I get to my stop just because nobody else has.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Horace says, growing more and more agitated. The bus is slowing and Horace stands, slipping past Teddy and knocking into his knees. “I don’t want trouble,” he’s saying, more to himself than to Teddy, but he sounds uncertain. “Can’t. No, I- it’s impossible. I can’t.”

He darts to the front of the bus, stumbling twice. Teddy watches him say something to the driver and then dash out to the street. He feels a bit useless as he watches him go. Teddy hopes he’ll do the right thing.

* * *

It’s been exactly twelve days since another human being has said a word to Ernie Prang. Twelve days of watching hundreds of men, women and children file past him without so much as glancing his way. Twelve days of waiting, hoping that someone might just look up and notice him in the driver’s seat slowing drowning in his isolation. Every day, he wakes alone, eats alone, and then he works alone despite being surrounded by countless people. It never bothered him before, never affected him, but he’s been slipping lately and he can’t seem to stop it. He doesn’t turn his phone on anymore; nobody is going to call. He had friends before, but he pushed them away.

He’s collapsing in on himself, slowly but surely. Sinking. And he thinks maybe he’s tired of fighting it.

He made a deal with himself this morning when he woke up, made a decision.

He’s going to kill himself when his shift ends if the universe doesn’t offer him any sort of a sign not to. If it does, perhaps he’ll look for a way out of this, see if there’s something that can be done with his mess of a head. He hasn’t thought too much about that, because he’s pretty certain nothing will happen today that’s any different to any other day. He’s quite sure his fate is sealed. He’s fine with it.

Nobody will notice when he’s gone. The bus company will, yes, when he doesn’t show up tomorrow, but they’ll call in a replacement and the passengers will get picked up as normal, will go about their days and never realise that their driver has changed. They don’t notice him when he’s here; why would they notice when he’s not?

He has half an hour left of his shift until he’s due back at the depot. Half an hour before he travels home and finishes that bottle of sleeping pills in his bathroom cabinet.

He doesn’t feel scared or uncertain. It all just feels sort of inevitable. When he’d made that deal as he lay looking up at his ceiling, he didn’t actually believe the universe would offer any sort of sign he should keep living. He’s not sure why he bothered going through the motions, why he didn’t just do it then, but he felt like he should give it one last chance to prove him wrong.

He doesn’t immediately notice the man in the brown suit stood beside him as he pulls the bus over to the next stop.

“Thank you,” the man says gruffly, startling Ernie.

“What?” Ernie says stupidly, hand slipping on the lever as he reflexively opens the bus door.

“I appreciate your service,” the man says, not meeting his eye. “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

He dashes out the door without looking back, and Ernie sits in stunned silence, watching him go.

And then all at once, he’s completely overwhelmed.

All the fear he’d been suppressing crashes over him like a wave, and he’s grateful, so fucking grateful for that man. He closes the doors and pulls the bus back out onto the street, tears silently spilling down his face as he navigates the last few stops of his route. He’s shaking and he’s not aware of anything except for the pounding of his own heart as the last passengers file off. He doubts they notice him either, but that’s okay, because _one_ did, and one was all he needed to find the will to keep fighting.

* * *

The building Victoire works in is as loud and chaotic as she is. It takes Teddy three attempts to get somebody to actually stop so he can ask them where her office is, and that person only pauses it because he physically steps in front of them.

“Miss Weasley works on the third floor,” a chipper woman with blonde hair and bright eyes tells him. “She’s usually out to lunch around now, though. I’d show you to her office but I’m late for a meeting, sorry!”

Teddy is getting close to running the risk of being late too. He takes the stairs up to the third floor because the lift is full, hoping Victoire wouldn’t have texted him to come all the way down here if she wasn’t even around, but knowing it's probably the case because she usually has a thousand thoughts running through her mind a minute and likely forgot she texted Teddy the moment she hit send.

When he opens the door to the office with a small gold plate and two names engraved into it, the only person in there is an unhappy looking man perched on the arm of a leather couch, staring down at his phone.

“Er, sorry,” Teddy says. “I’m looking for Victoire.”

“She’s on her lunch break. Should be back soon,” the man says distractedly, not looking up. “I’m her boss - I can give her a message if you like.”

Teddy pulls his house key from his pocket and strides over to drop it on her desk. “It’s fine,” he says. “I just need to leave her a key and I’ll-”

“If someone was mad at you,” the man interrupts abruptly, “how would you word a text that says ‘I’m sorry’ and also ‘please don’t break up with me’?”

Teddy pauses. “Er… Well, I mean, I probably wouldn’t send any of that by text.”

The man looks up and frowns. He's got a very serious face. Teddy remembers Victoire telling him that after sharing an office with him for three months, she's pretty certain he doesn't do anything other than work and read. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?” he asks Teddy earnestly. “Should I not apologise? Should I say something else?”

“No, I mean I wouldn’t send something like that by text at all. Seems more like a face to face thing.” Teddy considers, and then adds, “or even an over the phone thing.”

The man glances back down at his phone. “I’m not good at this,” he mutters. “Text is much easier.”

“Well, yeah,” Teddy agrees. “But if this person is important, surely they’re worth at least a call, right?”

The man is still staring intently at his phone, his brow pinched. Teddy is about to slip out and end this awkward conversation when he announces, “You're right. I should call. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

“Er, yeah,” Teddy agrees. “Look, I’ve gotta get to work, so-”

“What should I say?” the man demands. “How do I apologise for being unkind?”

“Uh, well, just tell them you’re sorry you were unkind,” Teddy suggests. “And then try not to do it again so they know you mean it?”

The man’s expression is confused. “What, so just… tell her exactly what I’m thinking?”

Teddy shrugs. “Well, yeah. Honesty is generally the best approach, right? Seems like the best option if you want to keep her in your life.”

“Fuck,” the man says under his breath. “I do want that. I don’t want to lose her. I need to go.” He’s on his feet a moment later, phone already to his ear as he rushes by Teddy.

“Voicemail,” Teddy hears him say as he disappears out the door. “Pen, hi. It’s Percy. Listen-”

“Weird,” Teddy mutters to himself. Then he wonders if maybe he's the weird one for missing having someone to argue with. He hates fighting with anyone, but he loves that moment when a fight ends, when two people realise it’s not worth it and say they’re sorry and kiss because they’ve missed each other so much. God, he wants that.

Teddy sighs. He can't have that, and he has to get to work.

* * *

Lee Jordan loves music, always has. Guitar has been his passion since he was old enough to hold one, and it’s carried him through every phase of his life, through the good and bad.

It’s become vital to him now when things are at their worst. His music isn’t just a tool to keep him sane anymore; it’s crucial to him surviving. Since he lost his job and his flat, busking has been his only source of income, his only way to get money for food and on occasion, a night in a cheap hostel. He hadn’t expected to be able to eat much today since it had been raining and people didn’t like to stop and listen to street music when the weather was bad, but he'd been hoping he may get just a few dollars.

Earlier today, he’d been playing a new song he wrote. He doesn’t have lyrics yet, but he isn’t sure he wants to add any. He thinks maybe the piece might be powerful enough as an instrumental alone. It had been one of those songs that just poured out of him, coming together in less than an hour and leaving him exhausted when it was done. It's about him, about his life, his fears, his uncertainties. It won’t make a difference to anyone else’s life, but to Lee, getting that song out gave him a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t felt in months.

He’d finished playing the final chords this morning and had opened his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips, a calmness settling over him that he so rarely felt anymore. And then he’d glanced down to find a stack of bills in his guitar case.

Lee had just stared at them for several long moments, not daring to believe they were real. He didn’t know where they came from, why someone would leave so much, and for a beat he was sure he was hallucinating. Being hungry can do funny things to a person’s head, he knows that. When he’d managed to move and check that they were real, he begun to cry, and he'd immediately wished he’d been paying more attention so he could have thanked whoever had done this for him.

And now he’s here, stood outside the door of a restaurant he’d loved when he was younger, contemplating whether he should go inside or forgo a proper meal and just get something cheap like ramen to make the money last. His stomach rumbles angrily. He hasn’t had real food in a couple of weeks, and he misses the taste of vegetables and meat. He wants to go inside, but who knows when he’ll get more cash. What if he wastes what someone has gifted him and ends up hungry again in a week?

No, he should just go to the store and get something. Maybe they’ll have some old fruit and veg on sale, the stuff they try and sell cheap before it goes bad.

With a disheartened sigh, he turns away from the door, and runs directly into a woman headed inside.

“Fuck, sorry!” she says, scrambling frantically to pick up the bag she’s dropped. “I’m so late, sorry, wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No, it was my fault, sorry,” Lee insists, placing a steadying arm on her elbow. “Are you okay?”

She doesn’t answer. She’s eyeing the guitar case slung across his back. “Is that a guitar?” she asks - demands, really.

“Er, yeah it is.”

“Do you play?”

Lee nods. “Yes.”

“Are you any good?”

“I-” Lee blinks. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ve been told before I’m pretty decent.”

The woman pushes her hair away from her face. “This is probably crazy of me,” she says, “but I’m about five seconds away from getting fired if I don’t give my boss good news. I work here.” She gestures to the restaurant. “And I’m supposed to have hired someone weeks ago to play a few nights a week. The pay is average but you get perks like meals and discounted drinks. If you’re interested you can come in right now and show me if you’re actually decent.”

Lee stares at her. “Are you… are you offering me a job? Like a paid job?”

The woman’s shoulders slump and her face falls. “Look, it’s fine. Nevermind, I’m just in a bit of a spot and feeling frazzled and I need someone. I thought I’d be less likely to get fired for being late today if I took in someone to fill our dinner spot. Sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“I’ll do it,” Lee cuts in. “Absolutely. Fuck, I - Are you actually serious?”

“Wait, you will?" The woman looks like she may cry. Lee thinks he might too. "Oh my god, fuck! You’ve potentially saved my life, guitar man. Come with me!”

Lee’s head is spinning as he follows the woman inside, and he’s still not entirely convinced he isn’t dreaming, but he manages to send out a mental thanks to the universe for whichever stranger left him the money that led him here.

* * *

Teddy is officially late and he’s really annoyed about it. It’s Victoire’s fault, he’s decided, for forgetting her key. Although if he’d not been stood up he knows she wouldn’t have asked him to drop his one off, would have made the time to swing by here later and pick it up herself, so maybe it’s his Failed Date’s fault.

What he knows for sure is that today is the worst, and nothing good has come of it so far.

He dashes through the entrance when he arrives at work, heading straight for the elevator to take him to his department on the fourth floor. The doors are just sliding closed when a hand darts between them to stop them.

“Doctor Lupin, hi! I thought that was you,” the nurse says in surprise. “We don’t usually see you down here at this time.”

“Hey, Penelope. I’m running really late, need to head up, so if you don’t mind—”

“It’s actually perfect that I caught you,” she says, still holding the lift doors open. “I’ve just admitted a gentleman for a psychiatric evaluation. He came in voluntarily, but he’s very nervous and some of his comments indicate he may have suicidal tendencies, so I’d really like to put a rush on his evaluation. The thing is, because of the accident earlier, we’re understaffed and nobody can get in to see him for a couple of hours. I know you're busy, and that it’s not technically your department, but you have such a way with calming people, and I was hoping—”

“You want me to give him some reassurance before his evaluation?” Teddy finishes for her.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important,” Penelope assures him. “I would hate for him to leave here without help now that he’s reached out, and I’m worried if he’s left for too long with his thoughts he may shut down on us.”

“Yeah, no, of course,” Teddy agrees. “I’ll head there as soon as I can.”

“You’re such a gem, Doctor Lupin,” Penelope beams. “Thank you! His surname is Prang. I’ll let the nurse on duty know you’ll be heading over there.”

“Wait, Penelope,” Teddy calls, stopping the lift doors himself. “What accident?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? Doctor Finnigan was caught in a car accident earlier on his way to work. He’s fine, still unconscious but no lasting damage, but er…” She ducked her head closer, lowering her voice. “They’re saying it was his fault but there were no witnesses. He copped the worst of it, but he could be charged with negligent driving, and who knows how that will affect his career.”

Teddy frowns. He knows Seamus - they’ve shared more than one coffee together in the cafeteria after a long shift - and he can’t imagine him being reckless enough to cause an accident.

“That’s why we’re understaffed,” Penelope continues. “They haven’t been able to bring in anyone to cover for him yet, so some of last night’s guys are still here to help out. You know how big Doctor Finnegan’s patient load is.”

Teddy does know; Seamus takes on more work than anyone, is always one of the first to put up his hand to help everybody out.

“Where is he?” he asks. He shouldn’t make any more detours, but Seamus is a friend.

“Third floor. Sorry, I’m keeping you,” Penelope says, as though only just realising how long they’ve been holding the elevator.

“I’ll head there after seeing your patient. You should take a break, you look exhausted,” Teddy tells her, and she gives him a wan smile.

“I only started a little while ago,” she admits. “Bad morning. It’s nothing.”

“Still. If you need some time to yourself, make sure you take it.”

“I will, Doctor Lupin, thanks,” she promises. Teddy nods and steps away from the door. He sees her pull her phone from her pocket and her eyes go wide in surprise when she looks at the screen. He hopes whatever she sees is good news.

* * *

Seamus blinks awake slowly. He feels heavy and weighed down with sleep, his brain struggling to catch up, confused as the sounds of machines and murmured voices begin to filter into his consciousness.

A strong, familiar hand is gripping one of his and his panic ebbs slightly; if Dean is here, then he’s okay. Dean wouldn’t ever let anything happen to him.

The room is slowly pulled into focus and his fingers twitch involuntarily in Dean’s grasp.

“Jesus Christ, thank fuck,” Dean whispers, grip tightening as he leans forward to press his forehead to Seamus’. “You fucking scared me, you arsehole.”

Seamus exhales a shaky breath and holds onto Dean. “Hi,” he murmurs. “Why does it feel like my head is about to explode? What happened?”

“Car accident,” Dean says gently, pulling back to examine Seamus’ face. “You hit your head, but there’s no bleeding or lasting damage.”

Seamus reflexively stretches his fingers and legs, relieved when he’s not met with any sort of resistance or pain. “Who’s my doc?” he asks.

“Parkinson.”

Seamus nods, closing his eyes for a moment as the throbbing in his temple becomes stronger.

“Good. Yeah, good. She’s a good doctor.”

Dean’s fingers trace a line along his jaw and Seamus lets himself lean into the touch. His memory is fuzzy. He knows he isn’t supposed to put stress on himself so soon after a traumatic incident, but he wants to remember what happened. There’s the faint sound of tyres screeching in the back of his mind. A thump. Was that his head connecting with the car window as he spun out of control? Or something else?

“Was anyone else hurt?” he asks.

Dean doesn’t answer, and a nervous dread settles in Seamus’ stomach. He opens his eyes.

“Dean, tell me what happened,” he pleads quietly.

“Sorry,” Dean says, voice trembling. “I just — The police were trying to say it was your fault. For the last couple of hours they’ve been saying you’ll be questioned and blaming you. I was so angry, babe. I yelled at so many people, I’m such a prick.”

Seamus swallows. “ _Was_ it my fault?”

Dean shakes his head emphatically. “No, Christ, sorry I’m fucking this up. It wasn’t. Another car cut you off. You swerved to miss him and clipped a motorbike. They said the rider has a broken arm but they’re fine other than that. The guy who ran the red light, he took off but he turned himself in just before you woke up. He’d been drinking.”

Seamus’ head spins. “Wait, fuck, I hit someone?”

“They’re fine,” Dean repeats emphatically. “It wasn’t your fault, I promise. You know I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. Right now all you need to focus on is getting well, okay?”

“But my patients—”

“Being looked after by Parkinson and a couple of others. Don’t worry. And no.” Dean presses a kiss to Seamus’ forehead. “You can’t see your chart, so don’t even ask.”

Before Seamus can protest, Dean pulls out a paper bag and sits it on Seamus’ chest. “Got you something,” he says. “One of those Eclairs you like. They wouldn’t let me in to see you at first and I was a bit of a mess and it seemed like the logical thing to do at the time.” He shrugs. “Couldn’t get it from the normal place so I went to this other cafe. The woman working was really nice, trying to cheer me up. Was rambling about fate and destiny and stuff.”

Seamus smiles tiredly, his body beginning to protest being awake. He needs to rest. It's okay, he thinks. Dean is here, so even though his mind is still whirling, he knows everything is okay. “You’ll have to take me there sometime.”

Dean chuckles. “You’d hate it — it’s all doilies and pink cushions.”

“Sounds horrible,” Seamus says, yawning. “I can’t wait.”

* * *

Teddy decides not to interrupt when he pokes his head in to Doctor Finnigan’s room and sees him murmuring quietly with a man perched on the edge of his bed. Their heads are bowed together. It’s too intimate, too private, so he backs out and closes the door quietly. When he turns around, he runs straight into Doctor Parkinson.

“Shit, sorry!” Teddy says.

“My fault, sorry,” Pansy murmurs. She tries to step past him, but Teddy reaches out for her arm, frowning as he takes in her weary appearance. Pansy has been here for a lot longer than he has, and has a fierce reputation for being unshakable. He’s never seen or heard her so defeated.

“Penelope says a few docs have been here since last night,” he says. “From the bags under your eyes, I’m guessing you’ve been here longer.”

Pansy shrugs. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t you be upstairs?”

“Shouldn’t your shift be over?” Teddy counters.

“I’m busy, Lupin. I have patients to see.”

“Pansy,” Teddy says. “You’re dead on your feet. You need to go home and get some rest. You’re no good to anyone if you’re exhausted.”

He thinks Pansy is going to argue - she's not his boss but in terms of experience she definitely has seniority - but then her shoulders sag. “I was meant to have watched my daughter’s last football game today,” she says quietly. She rubs at her face, eyes downcast. “She’s going to be furious, but they needed my help here.”

It’s not a secret that Pansy overworks herself — it’s sort of a running joke around the hospital that she spends more time here than at home — but Teddy notices for the first time just how tired she looks, and he knows that’s not from working one double shift. That kind of weariness builds over time. It’s months, maybe years, of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. Teddy wonders why no one has said anything sooner.

“Pansy,” he says firmly. “Go home.” Pansy opens her mouth but Teddy cuts her off. “I’ll make a call and see if I can pull some strings. I should be able to help out down here for a few hours at least. My team is pretty quiet tonight. Go rest. See your family. If you leave now you can still make dinner time. I’ll look after things here.”

“They won’t want me there,” Pansy mumbles. “They’re angry at all the extra shifts I take. God, I'm such an idiot.”

Teddy puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “They’re probably angry because they miss you. Go. I’ll get your patient list from the nurse and check on them all.”

Pansy nods and then walks away, stretching out her shoulder muscles as she walks. Teddy watches her go, a heavy feeling settling in his chest.

Maybe being alone isn’t the worst thing, he thinks sadly. Perhaps having someone right there in front of you but growing apart from them because of this job would be worse.

Maybe he’s better off on his own after all.

* * *

James Potter’s arm is itchy as fuck and if he doesn’t find a fork or fucking something to scratch it with, he’s going to scream. He’s pretty sure the bulky cast on his arm and the sling holding it to his chest are completely unnecessary — the break had barely hurt and he was more worried about his bike, to be honest — but the doctor had insisted.

The doctor had also insisted he had to stay to be observed and that he needed at least one more check up before he could leave, which he has been waiting for patiently for the past two hours, but despite the stream of people walking by the observation room he’s in, not a single one has come inside. Well, apart from the police earlier, but they'd been in and out in two minutes.

He huffs in frustration and begins digging through his pockets with his free hand. He knows his phone isn’t there, but he’s hoping maybe he just didn’t check thoroughly enough the first twenty times he looked, and that maybe it’s not lost somewhere back on the little side street where he’d been hit. Searching for it distracts him from the incessant itching.

He’s just begun contemplating going into the hallway and hunting down a doctor himself, but then a man wanders into the room, head buried in a medical chart.

“Mr Potter, hello.” He looks up and smiles, and if James is momentarily dazzled, well, no one has to know. “I apologise for the delay. How are you feeling?”

“What happened to the other doctor?” he blurts out like an idiot, because apparently he can’t talk to a cute doctor without immediately becoming a rude, awkward mess. Awesome.

“I’m filling in for Doctor Parkinson this afternoon,” the new doctor explains kindly.

“But you’re not wearing doctor clothes,” James says stupidly.

The man glances down at himself, frowning, as though only just realising he’s wearing black jeans with ripped knees and a grey t-shirt with a matching beanie.

“I haven’t had a chance to go to my department yet to change. I apologise for the lack of professionalism, but I read your chart and figured you’d been waiting a while and would want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Before James can answer, the doctor sets his chart down and strides over to him.

“I’m just going to do a final check of your vitals before I discharge you,” he says, picking up the cuff of the blood pressure machine and gesturing for James to hold out his good arm. James complies obediently, willing himself not to stare at the sharp line of his doctor’s jaw but failing miserably. “Have you experienced any dizziness or nausea since the accident?”

James shakes his head. Why is his throat so dry? Is that a result of the accident, maybe?

“And your arm, any pain since they patched you up?”

“It’s just itchy as fuck,” James grumbles, pulling a chuckle from the doctor.

“You know,” he says conversationally as he wraps the cuff around James’ upper arm, “blood pressure is not technically a vital sign, but we always check it with the others, just to be sure.”

“I- okay?”

The doctor smiles sheepishly. “Yeah sorry, you probably don't care. You just seem kind of tense. Thought I could distract you from the itching, maybe.”

“You are,” James blurts out, and immediately wants to die. Unfortunately he’s in a hospital so will probably just be resuscitated if he keels over right now, and be forced to confront his awkwardness anyway.

Luckily, the doctor is looking at the machine in front of him, though there’s still a smile tugging at his lips.

“Where do you work normally?” James asks, partly because he wants attention away from his blunder, but also because he genuinely wants to know.

The doctor blinks, frowning. “Er, here?” he says.

James barks out a laugh. “No, I mean which department. You said you haven’t had a chance to go up there yet and that you're filling in.”

“Oh.” Is he blushing? James is pretty sure that faint pink tinge on his cheeks was not there before. “I’m in Pediatrics, but I do a of psych work as well, so other doctors often pull me into their departments.”

“Oh, wow.”

The doctor removes the cuff from James’ arm and picks up a thermometer.

“Yeah, I love working with kids the most,” he says, placing the tip of the thermometer in James’ ear, and oh god, what if he has ear wax?

“Me too,” James blurts. “Not working with them, but I love them. I have a big family. Thousands of cousins. It’s a lot of fun.”

The doctor smiles again and doesn't seem put off by James' babbling. It’s lovely. “I bet,” he says.

“So how did you end up here checking on me if you’re meant to be with the kids? Don’t they need you there?”

“I’ll be paged if they need me. The ward is pretty quiet this afternoon, but I made sure someone was up there. But to answer your other question - I was running late today. I heard about the accident on my way in, and I wanted to check on my colleague, and then I ran into Doctor Parkinson and offered to fill in for her because she was exhausted.”

Of course he’s a good guy too, James thinks.

“Doctor Parkinson said everyone else was okay though, right?” he asks. "The driver who clipped me, he's okay, yeah?"

“Yep," the doctor confirms. "And the drunk driver who caused it handed themselves in.”

James already knows this, having been filled in by the police earlier. He doesn’t say that, though, because he’s staring at the doctor’s mouth.

Don’t flirt with him, James, his mind is screaming. Don’t do it, don’t you dare.

The doctor is about to reach for something but he pauses, uncertain. “What?” he asks warily. “Why are you staring at me?”

James glances down at his lap. “I, er… I’m glad you were late today. And ended up here. I was meant to be somewhere else earlier and it didn’t work out and I was a bit down about it, but this has like… made up for it a bit.”

And the doctor is definitely blushing now and one hundred percent fumbling as he picks up his stethoscope.

And James, who has never been known for his tact or his patience, or for making good decisions in general, decides that why the fuck not? He was in an accident today. He could have been seriously hurt, but he wasn't and now he’s sitting here with a hot fucking doctor blushing in front of him, and even if this backfires, he’s still coming out of today lucky as fuck.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” he asks.

The doctor’s eyes go wide and he freezes halfway to putting his stethoscope in his ears.

“I have to swing by my Aunt and Uncle’s place for my cousin’s birthday tomorrow night,” James continues, “but you could come with me and then we could go get dinner?”

The doctor is staring. “You’re asking me out?” he asks, incredulous.

“Er… yes? I think so?” James replies. “Is that okay?”

“And you're inviting me to meet your family? On a first date?”

James shrugs, unperturbed. “Why not?” His family are a big deal in his life. Anyone he dates should know how full on they are from the get go, so they can get out early if they want.

The doctor is still staring at him, and James shifts nervously, confidence waning.

“I mean, if there are rules about you not dating patients or whatever, that’s fine,” he says. “Don’t worry about it. I just thought-”

“There are,” the doctor says hastily. “But I’m, like, not technically your doctor. I’m just discharging you.”

James sucks in a breath. “So…”

“It’s my night off,” the doctor says. His gaze is on his feet and his cheeks are flushed. “Tomorrow, I mean. I’m free. My roommate has plans so I was just going to stay in but… okay. Yes. Okay.”

James beams, heart racing. “Really?”

“Yeah, I… I definitely want to do that,” he says, eyes bright.

James can’t stop smiling, even when the doctor clears his throat and gestures to his stethoscope. “I still have to… to…”

“Oh, right, go ahead,” James says.

The doctor presses the stethoscope to James’ chest, gently maneuvering around his broken arm, and James pretends the way his fingers brush over James’ pectoral is intentional. Can he hear James’ heartbeat speeding up when he leans closer? James decides he doesn't care.

When he’s done he steps away from James and picks up his chart.

“Today has been so weird,” he says quietly, retrieving a pen from his pocket.

James adjusts his sling, trying to find a more comfortable position, and he smirks “Yeah? Why? Coz some awesome guy asked you out?”

The doctor just shakes his head and returns James' grin. “I wasn’t having a great day, but I think maybe I’ve almost been convinced to start believing in fate,” he says. He chuckles quietly to himself, like he can't quite believe what he's said.

James watches him as he fills out the discharge paperwork, can’t tear his eyes away. He’s never thought about fate before, not in any sort of real sense, but maybe this was where he was supposed to end up today. Not in a cafe with a man he thought sounded cute but he never got to meet. Maybe he's meant to be right here, in this tiny room with this doctor, and not across town with a stranger called-

“It’s Teddy, by the way,” the doctor says, glancing up at James with a dimpled smile and bright eyes. “My name. It’s Teddy.”


End file.
